


Clyde Logan Ruining Your Wedding & Runaway Bride (You Ruin Your Wedding)

by in_chains_and_flesh_and_leather



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27024694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_chains_and_flesh_and_leather/pseuds/in_chains_and_flesh_and_leather
Summary: I love the idea of dating one of the boys, breaking up for whatever reason, then gearing up to marry someone else, but they swoop in and stop you.So here's Clyde doing just that :)& You run away from your own weddings with your best man, big bear Clyde
Relationships: Clyde Logan & Reader, Clyde Logan & You, Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

_First was[Flip Zimmerman ruining your wedding](https://in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather.tumblr.com/post/631955955452608512/how-the-boys-would-interrupt-your-wedding).  
_

**_So next up, Clyde Logan and stopping your wedding :)_ **

Piggybacking off [this old prompt ](https://in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather.tumblr.com/post/625959585640022017/anywho-33-i-thought-it-would-help-but-i-just)because I love the idea of Clyde dating his physical therapist - I love it so much that this became a big bloated boi and I need to split it up.

§ Getting a new prosthetic was as exciting as it was difficult. Finally, he didn’t have to walk around with a ridiculous plastic approximation of what a limb looked like, but it was a sensitive instrument and, dishearteningly, Clyde found it wasn’t easy to get a hold of a therapist who could help him very much.

§ So when he gets an appointment with you, he is beside himself to learn you can help him with everything he needs. And you’re beautiful. And shit. He’s falling in love with you.

§ He cherishes every moment he has with you, so much so that he would go back, apologizing, asking you work through something with him again even when he knew full well how it worked.

§ At some point, you start suspecting that he isn’t as hapless and forgetful as he might try to appear, realizing with a panicky pang deep in your chest and that familiar tingle low in your gut that you’re very happy he is doing it.

§ Clyde hadn’t really dated after his injury; first, because he was traumatized and wasn’t in the right headspace, dealing with the physical and emotional fallout of what had happened to him. Then later because he didn’t like the looks, or the sympathy, or the vulnerability. He didn’t want to put that onto a partner as well.

§ But now you are near, and you smell so good – crisp, clean white coat and delicious shampoo when you turn to grab something (he has to stop himself multiple times from reaching out and burying his face in your neck and hair), just a faint trace of perfume when you get especially close and his heart beats loudly in his ears.

§ You sit next to him occasionally, to make it easier to copy your movements, and your thigh touches his, making those big muscles visibly tense and a chill run up his spine. Your hands are warm when you press your palms into his shoulder or back, doing exercises with him gently and patiently.

§ You ask him about his injury and you don’t make it about yourself and how sorry you are that it happened. You want to know specific things and you give him advice on how to get better. God, he could kiss you just for that.

§ When you take his arm for the first time to inspect it, he is surprised he is in no way uncomfortable. He usually either feels naked without the prosthetic or he takes it off defiantly, to shock and disgust pricks who provoke him, but it’s never easy, and simple, and intimate.

§ One day, he is not thinking straight, exhausted from holding back for so long before, and he just brushes a strand of hair that fell over your shoulder as you are adjusting the strap on his arm. Your eyes follow his hand as he does it, and down as he places it on his lap, feeling his soulful eyes searching for yours, boring into your forehead. You take a moment and think if there is any way out of this. Because you know what will happen if you look at him. But there isn’t.

You finish strapping the prosthetic up, still looking no higher than his belt, the tension only building and your lack of movement confirming you are thinking exactly what he is.

He gets tired of waiting, feeling like he might die of frustration in his bed tonight if he doesn’t taste you right now. So he bends and contorts in the little space between you, lowering himself enough to reach you. He places a soft, tentative kiss on the corner of your mouth, waiting to see if you moved or responded, finding that you are not breathing any more than he is. He cups your face, tilting your chin up so he can have better access and pulls you into him, kissing you with devotion and abandon. It’s so consuming you have to grip his sides for support and he welcomes your body leaning into his limply, wants to just pick you up and take you away and be with alone for hours and hours.

When your senses return to you, it’s still a horrible struggle to get yourself to push him gently off you, leaning his forehead against yours as he tries not to whimper for more, hands roaming your body, begging you to continue. You are so devastatingly close, you can feel his hair as it slips around his face brushing against you, hear and feel his breath as it shakes his body and you are both teetering on the edge of picking this up again.

_This is… my place of work_. – you manage, reminding yourself as much as him. He pulls back instantly, face pained and hand covering his kiss-swollen lips in shame. He knows that. He knows better. He respects you more than that, but there is a ravenous beast in his, clawing at his skin from the inside, destroying him to get to you.

He isn’t able to respond, there’s nothing he can say. _Sorry_? He’s not. He has to think of a decent and respectable way to approach you and make this up to you.

§ It’s the weekend and you decide to go to the Duck Tape. Your life had taken several twists and turns recently and you had to explore what happened and how it would play out.

As soon as he sees you, Clyde drops what he’s doing and watches you approach, unmoving, unblinking. With a word, he makes a customer vacate the seat in front of him so you can stand facing him unimpeded. He leans across the bar and waits for you, looking mesmerized. The whole scene feels so romantic, you truly don’t notice anyone around, the sounds and images blurring and disappearing and there is only the two of you.

You go out to talk and Earl has made himself scarce, the red glow of his cigarette disappearing into the darkness. You both want as much as privacy as you can have, so you move into a dark corner without discussing it. Still not having figured out the right thing to say, Clyde just looks at you, the trail of his eyes moving over you feeling just as real as a physical touch.

It was more than undressing you with his eyes. Or a schoolboy with twinkling eyes looking at a crush. He looked like a man ablaze for you. It was such a rare, but instantly identifiable kind of look, a look you know in your bones, in your very core. You wondered if you recognized it from seeing it before or if it was some ancestral memory, etched in your subconscious, so that when you spotted it, it would make sure you cling to it?

You explain that you can’t do things like those at work – it’s not right professionally, ethically, morally… You run your hand up and down his arm in support, wanting to show him that you are comfortable around him and don’t begrudge him the kiss, but before you know it, you fingers are working under the hem of his sleeve, going further than they should. He is just so fucking delicious to touch.

_S’that all ya came to say t’me tonight? That it can’t happen again?_ – he asks, emboldened by your eyes half closing just from being near him, in the dark, where no one could stop you.

_Oh, Clyde…_ \- you whine and press your head into his chest, your professional obligation demanding that you not say you came here tonight because you want him to fucking ruin you.

Regardless, next thing you know, he has you propped up on the fence, legs secured around his waist and kissing you so good you want to cry. After the initial heat, it becomes so tender, both of you exploring how many sweet things you can say to each without talking, just with the dance of the other’s lips against yours, soft murmurs, strokes of a hand… To finally bring himself down, he buries his face in your chest, kissing against your heart, feeling a vein tick erratically in your throat and you hold him, overwhelmed at how much you’re feeling for him.

For the rest of the night, you sit at the bar, giggling and blushing when he walks by or works behind the counter, replaying your rendezvous on the porch in your head while he’s gone. It’s the best night you’ve had in a while.

§ Next week, Clyde comes in for his appointment early, anxious to see you and leave his little gift. He wanted to show up with a massive bouquet, but knew that would make you uncomfortable. So he opted for a simple horseshoe necklace, a plain, unassuming design on a delicate chain, because you had talked about his ring before and you said you liked it. He was trying to smooth over his pocket so it didn’t look like he had anything on him, as if he would be patted down before entering.

In his nervous anticipation, he almost missed the man walking over and asking for you. It was only after your name was repeated that he subtly directed his eyes in his direction.

_I’m sorry, doctor, she has back-to-back appointments all morning_. – the receptionist informed him.

_Alright, tell her her boyfriend is looking for her. I’ll be in the break room and she can join me when she has a moment._ – he said, tapping his fingers on the counter and mouthing _bye_ happily before leaving.

§ Doctor White is not your boyfriend, or at least you wouldn’t call him that. You went out on a few as yet platonic dates. He seemed like he wanted to kiss you on more than one occasion and you braced yourself, hoping you liked it, but he never went through with it. When your amazing kiss with Clyde happened, you were completely ready to let the man down easy. However, in a bizarre and disorienting turn of events, Clyde decides to ghost you. You can’t believe it at first, not after that night, but you tell yourself you went to the Duck Tape for answers that night and now you got them.

Without a concrete reason in Clyde, you feel like you don’t need to immediately send this guy packing. When he does eventually kiss you, it’s fine and proficient, but there are no sparks like the ones in your office or at the Duck Tape.

§ Your colleague asks you for Clyde’s file one day that week, saying he came over to and asked to change his physical therapist. Confused and offended, and hurt, you give the file over without any further inquiries or comments. Clyde asks the new physical therapist if you sad anything and she says no, not that she can recall. For the rest of his appointment, he doesn’t take anything in, only thinking of his past appointments with you and how much it stings you didn’t even ask _why_.

§ To Clyde’s mind, you were either a bad woman who toyed with men easily and he was just too blinded by affection for you to see it or you had simply made the smart choice and picked the doctor. Whatever it was, he lost and was hurt beyond words. That night, that kiss you shared, was probably the most intimate and loving act in his life and knowing it wouldn’t happen again was a whole new and profound kind of pain for him.

§ From then on, you avoid the Duck Tape like the plague, often missing nights out with friends so you could preserve some relative peace in your life, trying to build a successful relationship with Dayton.

§ One day, when your bad mood hits especially hard, Dayton convinces you to tell him what is bringing you down so much. So you tell him about Clyde, naturally, leaving out the kiss part, and explain how you felt like you were doing a good job at his recovery and suddenly he disappeared, and you felt like you were doing something wrong. Dayton was sympathetic to how patients and seeing them regress in different ways can be heart wrenching and assured you this was an anomaly and your patients adored you and you were helping them immensely.

§ The next night, he headed to the bar, wanting a little chat with this Clyde Logan that kept you up at night.

§ The two men know each other instantly, Clyde from his happy smile calling you his girlfriend etched in his mind permanently, and Dayton by his reputation and instinct. It takes no more than a second of locking eyes with each other to know exactly why the good doctor came to the bar that evening.

Dayton orders and they have a short conversation, lots of starts and stops, anger threatening to bubble over on both sides. The topic touches on work, Dayton mentioning how you were doing splendidly, but odd things occur here and there.

_You know, sometimes patients develop slightly parasocial relationships with those who take care of them. They start thinking they are taking good care of them because they’ve somehow developed feelings that go further than doctor patient._

_Why are ya tellin’ me this?_ – Clyde asks, feeling shame and jealousy bring his blood to a boil. He is liable to do something stupid right now.

_Oh, I don’t know, you might wanna ask yourself why it’s become necessary for me to come down here and put you in your place?_

That makes Clyde feel like he has the upper hand – Doctor White has to come here, on your behalf, and deal with Clyde? Are you still thinking about him somehow? – _All due respect, sir, I ain’t the one botherin’ you at yer place of work. I ain’t doin’ nothin’ to yer girlfriend._ – the word is offensive in his mouth, but the hope that he was a thorn in the doctor’s side was intoxicating.

_Yes, you are, Mr Logan. You have taken out your anger and resentment for me on her. You shouldn’t have done that just because I’m the guy who gets to do what you want_.

_And what is that?_ – Clyde asks, knowing very well what Dayton is implying, but wanting him to say it so he has a reason to knock him the fuck out.

_Oh, you just have a good think about that for the rest of your shift here at this charming establishment. And I’ll go get into bed with my girlfriend and hold her and comfort her till she accepts she bears no responsibility for what her emotionally manipulative patients choose to do_. – Dayton smiles defiantly as he pays and gets up to leave, Clyde furious, full of impotent anger and a desire to set something valuable of Dayton’s on fire.

§ _He’s a podiatrist_. – Clyde explains grumpily in answer to Jimmy’s question, his drunken flushed face dangerously close to sliding off his hand.

_He works with kids?_ – Jimmy checks.

_No, that’s a pediatrician. This guy works with feet_. – Clyde says resentfully.

_Oh. Well… runnin’ yer bar’s better than feet, I dunno what yer so down about_. – Jimmy tries to comfort his brother, with little success.

§ Months later, you run into each other at the gas station, you filling up your car, Clyde buying some drinks and food for himself and Mellie on their way to visit Jimmy and Sadie. You’re paying, your back turned to him, but he knows you instantly, stomach dropping through the floor. He wishes he dressed up more, he wishes he wasn’t holding gas station snacks like a moron. You turn around, closing your wallet and putting it back into your purse, a massive split shank engagement ring brilliant on your finger.

If his stomach was through the floor before, it was halfway to China now. Clyde feels a look of horror twist his face and he desperately tries to summon his impassive roll call face, thinking back to their tyrannical drill sergeant and how he beat this mask of emotionlessness into them even when they felt furious at or terrified of him. Finally, he has a good use for it.

Clyde is standing in front of you, not even a week after your engagement and you want to fucking scream at the universe for its cruel and perverse timing. You examine his face, screwed up and impenetrable. You know it’s unlike him, he must have seen the ring, but he is determined not to give you any reaction. You look at each other for a few beats, neither able to speak their mind – too much pride and hurt feelings in your way – and neither able to think of something surfacy and pleasant to say, caught in absolute hell.

Finally, you nod at him and walk past to leave and he can’t stop himself from asking, bitterly. – _I thought ya weren’t allowed to date anyone ya worked with?_

_I don’t… technically work with him. He just works for the same company_. – you responded sadly, thumb twirling the band of your ring. How horrible were you for your next thought – that all he had to do was kiss you again like he did that night and you would mail the ring back to Dayton without a second thought, from some faraway location, wrapped around Clyde?

_Congratulations_. – he says, more as an accusation than sincere well wishes, face displaying nothing positive.

_Thank you_. – you say back in a small voice, trying not to make some embarrassing petty comment about how Dayton is reliable and is there for you, doing whatever he can to make you happy. Unlike _some_ people you could name.


	2. Clyde Logan Ruining Your Wedding - Part 2

**I don’t know if there are any trigger warnings, but this did in parts kind of make me sick and anxious to write, so there’s that.**

§ When it’s time for your bachelorette party, you ask for a quiet night in and or a simple girl’s night, but you are outvoted. You would get shitfaced and go crazy and have a night of absolute debauchery and whoredom before settling into a quiet life with your Zen Doctor.

§ Before you are supposed to meet your friends, you get dolled up and spend the day before and all morning hyperventilating, working up the courage to go where you really wanted to go.

§ You arrive at the Duck Tape early on in the evening, barely any guests there. Just like that night so long ago, Clyde drops what he’s doing, mesmerized by you, unmoving, unblinking.

You sit in front of him and order several shots right out the gate. He nods, lining up the glasses in front of you and filling them, wincing when you lean forward and spilling the alcohol on the counter. You’re pleased that he is as nervous as you are, but it’s just so sad that he should be nervous at all.

_Yer all dressed up_. – he notices, suspecting why.

_Yep_. – you nod, downing your third drink already.

_Yer… goin’ out? After this?_ – he watches you lick your lips and close your eyes as the alcohol burns its way down your throat and chest, brain melting.

You nod and ask him to drink with you, toasting to your bachelorette party. He complies silently, drinking the toast and then another shot immediately.

You down a few more drinks without speaking, looking at each other fiercely, both feeling like the other had done something wrong and needs to apologize.

Boiling over, Clyde announces he needs to close the bar for the night, right now. The people leave in confusion and he locks up, turning back and walking briskly to take his spot behind the bar. - _Why’re ya here?_

_I don’t think that’s a fair question to ask of your best customer tonight._ – you taunt, already tipsy, pointing at all the empty glasses lined up in front of you.

Clyde lashes out in sudden overpowering anger, swinging his arm, knocking the many glasses clean off the bar. Maybe the drunkenness dulled your reflexes or you were expecting something like that to happen, but you don’t react at all to the sudden movement or the clanging and crushing of glass. With a sigh, you continue, asking yourself more than him. - _I don’t know. Why_ am _I here?_

His jaw is tight, asking him to shut the fuck up right now because he knows he’ll regret saying anything, but his heart has been bruised for so long and his brain is full of lines and scenarios and biting remarks that he has thought up over all this time – playing out fights with you in his head over and over, telling you all the ways in which you’ve devastated him and exactly how what you deserve for the pain you’ve inflicted.

_Are ya here for me? Ya want somethin’ from me?_ – he asked, walking over to your side of the bar with the force of a tornado, making you think he might tear you apart with his bare hands.

It could be so easy. All it takes is one word. _Yes_. I’m here for you. Don’t know what the fuck you’ve been waiting for, but take me away before it’s too late.

But you can’t just say that. You are engaged. And while you’re not decent enough not to come here tonight, you are decent enough not to ask for the awful, forbidden things you want. Both Clyde and Dayton deserve better than that.

_Why’re ya so quiet all of a sudden? Ya come here, dressed up like a dream, get me half drunk and look at—fuck, ya look at me like that? And yer not sayin’ nothin’? Whaddaya want?_

You feel a rush of blood to the head, making you dizzy, tears slowly gathering in your eyes.

_Ya think ya can jus’ come here and not say nothin’ and I’ll do what ya want? I’m jus’ some animal who can’t control himself around ya and I’ll fuck ya before ya get married to yer doctor even if ya don’t ask for it in words?_ – he gets in your face and dares you to respond.

Your tears finally spill over as you close your eyes, feeling emotionally exhausted. Clyde tries not to let that soften his heart, but he’s so close to apologizing and asking you to just hold him when you place a hand on his face, wild with emotion. Before you can crumble all his resolve, his hand shoots up, the prosthetic closing tightly around your wrist and in his drunken state, he is not controlling it as carefully as he should.

The grip is way too tight, feeling like it’s crushing your flesh to the bone, ripping your hand away from his face. You let out a pained sound, jumping clumsily off the stool, contorting to accommodate the unnatural angle of your arm and your drunken legs are not fast enough to follow. You lose your balance and end up a shivering pile on the floor, every bit of you in pain.

_Oh, my gawd!_ – Clyde is on his knees next to you in an instant, trying to inspect you and see if you are alright, but too embarrassed and disgusted with himself to dare touch you.

You feel an equal, if not greater, amount of shame because this night could not have possibly gone worse. Avoiding his eyes to keep from sobbing in shame, you find your balance, first with your hand planted against the floor, then knees, then feet. Still not looking at Clyde, who is shaking just as much as you and trying not to physically throw the fuck up right now, pale as a sheet, silent tears streaming freely down his face. You make your way to the bathroom to clean yourself up.

While you’re there, Clyde allows himself a short breakdown, biting into his arm and silently screaming before wiping his eyes and face harshly, leaving angry red blotches behind.

You come out, eyes fixed on the door, begging your shaking legs to just carry you that far with a semblance of dignity and then you don’t care what happens anymore.

He calls after you as you leave, but you stick out your index finger in warning, to shut him up, not deigning to turn around as you trudge to the door.

§ Once you’re gone, Clyde is in shock for a while, numb to what happened before he starts drinking again and replaying your visit in his mind over and over.

§ A long time and too many drinks later, he has a long-overdue epiphany.

§ He decides that maybe you did play with him. Maybe you see him as some blue collar piece of shit who pines for you like some pitiful lower life form. But screw it. He’s tried it his way – stoic and silent, acting like it never happened. And what did it bring him? Just heartbreak. So he is willing to try it another way. While there is still time.

§ He is willing to take anything you will give him, as long as you will give it – at least then he might know why his heart is breaking. It’ll break because he had the woman he loved and she threw him away eventually. Right now, he is a dead man walking who ain’t never even had what he wants.

§ So he gets in his car, prays nobody gets hurt due to his drunk driving and goes out looking for you.

It’s much later than he thought, so he gets told at the club where you and your friends were, one of the few in town, that you all already left. And no wonder. It would be dawning soon.

Clyde drives over to your parents’ house, assuming you wouldn’t go back all the way out to your and Dayton’s home, especially in your state and after the night you had.

All the lights are out, expect for a lamp dimly lighting your window. He stands under it and throws pebbles to get your attention.

You ignore it at first, thinking you’re just imagining things, but you swear you hear someone whisper-yelling your name in the quiet of the night. When you look out, it’s the first time that seeing Clyde –after what he put you through - makes you feel annoyed instead of overwhelmed with love.

_Clyde! What are you doing?_

_M’sorry._ – he fires off the first apology, just in general. - _Are you okay?_ – he asks with a sad face, pointing to his wrist to indicate your injury.

You shake your head. - _Do I look okay to you?_

_I’m so sorry_. - he continues, his perception of self-hate diluted by alcohol, but still strong. _\- Ya look perfect t’me, by the way_. – he remembers to mention. - _But m’sorry_. – he continues, beginning to blubber messily. He really is a sorry sight.

_You’re a mess, go home_. – you reprimand. - _Wait, how did you even get here?_

_I drove._

_You drove!?_ \- you yell, then repeat in a low voice. - _You drove? Are you out of your mind?_

_A little, I think_. – he answers automatically, not thinking anything through.

_Seriously, stop it, go home._ – you wave him off, giving you stupid fucking answers like those. – _Don’t drive!_ – you specify, not wanting him to get himself killed. - _Walk! And fast, someone’s gonna call the cops on us._

_I’m not leavin’_. – he shrugs and collapses, making you lurch forward before you realized he was just clumsily sitting down on the ground.

_Then what_ are _you doing?_ – you cross your arms, wanting to hear what brilliant plan he’s hatched.

_Well, first, I’m apologizin’ to ya_. – he said, leaning his head to the side, like a sad child, the way grown ass drunk men do.

You stare at each other in silence for a while before you prompt him. - _For what?_

_Everythin’_. – he says helplessly. Can he just apologize for everything ever and have you welcome him back?

_What’s everything?_

He sighs. - _Can you come down?_

_No_. – you spit back resolutely.

_Can I come up?_

_Definitely not._

_It’s gonna be a long night if we keep doin’ this…_ \- Clyde states, resolving to stay in your backyard as long as it took.

_Fine, sleep in the bushes then_. – you fucking prick, you muter quietly to yourself, all the while putting on a satin robe and sneaking out on your tiptoes. This is some shit you didn’t even do as a teenager.

You come down and Clyde somehow scrambles to his feet, staggering. He wraps his heavy arms around you, relieved you’re out, but you also help balance him.

_Don’t fucking touch me_. – you warn as you push him off when you’re sure he can stand.

_Yer mad at me?_ – he asks, rubbing his eyes to keep them open.

_Yes_.

_Ya don’t want me to to touch ya?_ \- he asks again.

_I don’t_. – you answer back as angrily as you can manage.

_Bullshit_. – Clyde challenges, grabbing your other wrist with his flesh hand – with an appropriate level of grip this time – and drags you down the street.

_Wh-What are you doing?_

_M’takin’ ya home. I can’t drive. We’ll hafta walk_.

_I’m already home._

_No, yer not. I’m takin’ ya home and we’ll talk about evertyhin’ we need to talk about._

_Stop it. Clyde, I’ll scream!_

_No, ya won’t._

You struggle and protest, but, by god, you walk with him, in your dumb satin robe and house shoes, following this swaying bear of a man.

§ On the way to his trailer, you talk about everything, from your first appointment until the moment Clyde ghosted. It’s detailed and painstaking, but you both get it all out and get on the same page. It takes a little while to clear the air, working out the timeline of what happened when and who misinterpreted what.

§ When you reach his home, you’re both about ready to tear each other to shreds. You kiss him, tasting all the liquor that made him go this soft for you, feeling like you’ll get drunk again too. Clyde, although tired and worn out by experiencing just about every emotion he could today, feels so light that he could float to the ceiling once your nails scratch against scalp as you fist his hair and suck on his tired lips. 

§ Clyde believes everything you told him – and it’s so easy, how can he not when you’re kissing on him like that and holding him and not letting go? But it takes a while to process that all this time, he could have been happy with you instead of at the bottom of a dark hole.

§ He asks, with sadness and hope, if you’ll let him hold you that night. You say yes, though there is little of the night left, the darkness already becoming thinner, and you wrap yourselves around each, waking up hours later, all tangled up.

§ After a drink, painkillers, water and coffee and a sturdy breakfast, you both feel almost over the mother of a hangover you’re nursing and you’re ready to pick things back up.

§ After the first time he makes love to you, he barely manages to hold himself together and not cry. He keeps going, again and again, until you _are_ crying, raw and overstimulated, quivering under him, but unable to ask him to stop.

§ Finally, late in the day, you collapse and take a long nap, your bodies and minds needing rest.

§ You are woken up by loud banging on the door, Clyde making out Jimmy’s voice. However, it’s not Jimmy who’s doing the banging.

_The foot doctor’s here_. – Jimmy informs Clyde, who is running to the door, apologetic that he couldn’t keep him away.

Your parents thought they heard you leave the house late last night, but since you weren’t with Dayton or any of your friends today, they got very concerned.

Dayton tracks down Jimmy at the bar, correctly assuming Clyde wouldn’t be there today. He threatens him with the police until Jimmy brings him here.

You are forced to walk out in the only clothes you have, your nightgown and robe, Clyde only in his boxers. It’s painfully obvious what’s been happening here all day and Jimmy steps away, hands in the air, not wanting any part of this mess. He stays close by, though, seeing how enraged Dayton is, just in case he tries something.

Of course, you feel humiliated at being discovered like this, but your mind is made up and you know you are not going back with Dayton and there is no wedding. It’s just a matter of relaying this to him.

He doesn’t take no for an answer, demanding that you come with him, talk to your parents, who are out of their minds with worry, and settle whatever nerves and cold feet that made you act out so insanely.

You keep repeating you don’t want to go and you will see him tomorrow and explain everything, trying to calm down Clyde as well, who keeps coming in with subtle quips and taunts, and keep Dayton from lunging at him lest he get his nose broken.

To his credit, given the awful discovery he made and being forced to bring his unfaithful fiancée home to calm her parents down, Dayton was holding up pretty well. Until, that is, he snapped, tired of negotiating and grabbed you by the arm, saying you were leaving right now and that he’s never seen such inconsiderate behavior in his life. You’re just amazed he doesn’t call you a fucking whore, like most men would.

You halfway make peace with being ripped away from Clyde for the time being – after all, you did have a gigantic mess to clean up, but both you and Dayton stop dead in your tracks at the sound of gunshot.

You never heard a shot fired before. You don’t only hear it, you feel the sound in your body. It’s terrifying.

Dayton looks from his shattered rear window to Clyde, standing on his porch, still aiming the gun in the direction of the car.

_Have you completely lost your mind?_ – Dayton asks, raising his voice for the first time.

_That’s my girl yer tryna drag away there. I ain’t fuckin’ playin’ around, doctor._ – Clyde informs him calmly and you feel his grip on you tighten. - _Next one will be through the door and that’s a lot more difficult to fix._

Dayton scoffs, shocked at his brutish behavior and just waiting till you’re alone to ask if you really feel it’s safe and smart to leave him for a man like that. He turns towards the car again, intending to leave, but you both hear the gun click, freezing.

_The one after that will be through your thigh. Yer on my property and yer takin’ ‘er against ‘er will. I’m well within my right to stop you. I’ll try t’miss the femoral artery, but I can’t make any promises_.

_Clyde, please_. – you beg, your gut telling you he’s fucking serious. You turn to Dayton and try to deescalate the situation. - _Dayton. I’m sorry. I don’t have any excuses. I’m really sorry for how this happened. But you should go. Now. Please. I’ll come see you tomorrow, I promise_.

Dayton has to swallow a lot of pride that day and you deeply sympathize. But he shouldn’t have come and he definitely needs to stop provoking Clyde, immediately, before something unthinkable happens. He knows this too, so he sternly tells you call your poor parents and not dare leave him hanging tomorrow.

He and Jimmy leave and you go up to Clyde, motioning for him to put the gun away. You watch him fiddle with it, probably making sure it’s safe and it strikes you that the sight is incredibly arousing. He barely has the box closed before you’re attacking him and dragging him off to bed again.

*

Me by the end: 🎶 _Whatta man, whatta man_ 🎶 

  


[c](https://in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather.tumblr.com/tagged/clyde-logan-x-reader)


	3. Runaway Bride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (The restraint it took not to call this Runaway Clyde is more than I can express)
> 
> You can blame Julia Roberts for this one.

*

You and Clyde spoke the same language.

It’s hard to tell when it started, like with most best friendships, but it was profound, unknowable, and essential, to the both of you.

You would play football with him as a kid, until you got injured, having a small kink in your ring finger to remind you of it. After that, you were relegated to cheerleader as Jimmy pummeled his younger brother in their yard.

Clyde was there to go dress and shoes shopping with you, giving you the support of a best friend and a male perspective. Was even kind enough to teach you how to French kiss. Oh la la.

*

Late in high school came his first real, carnal, bone-deep heartbreak.

He told you all about how he felt his young heart dying in his chest over his, admittedly, drop-dead gorgeous, vivacious girlfriend dumping him.

It was clear to anyone with eyeballs in their face that she had been after Jimmy, but he got together with Bobbie Jo and, inexplicably, this gal kept hanging around until poor Clyde fell for her. She, however, was not prepared to keep up appearances for long, so after giving him a taste for walking around with a jaw-droppingly beautiful woman and the wild, amazing sex that only an unstable, ferocious and limber person can give someone, she dropped him.

You, on the other hand, doubled down with your high school sweetheart, head full of romantic notions of being with that one person forever, telling your grandkids how their grandpa took you to prom and you got married in a dreamy summer wedding, the summer right after it.

Sure, you had dreamed of that fairytale moment, the way most girls do, more in terms of feelings and wanting something magical rather than a timeline and a checklist. But something spurred you on in that moment and you used your brain and charms to get Cory to do the good old boy thing and propose.

A movie would come out years later about implanting an idea into a man’s head. Make it out to be this big complex thing. As if it doesn’t take a few strategically placed words, eyelashes batted and basic positive reinforcement.

By then, of course, you would be on fiancé number three.

But that’s getting ahead of things.

*

Everybody accepted the marriage as something very normal, lulling you into a false sense of security and regularity. Until, that is, about a week before.

What in the hell were you doing really?

Why did you need to be married before you could legally drink?

How soon before people start cross-interrogating you about your uterus and why it hasn’t provided them a baby with pinchable cheeks?

Clyde was not so easily fooled at your final dress fitting – you would barely look at yourself in the mirror and, goddamn, you were breath-taking.

*

The night before the wedding, he showed up, throwing pebbles at your window and you snuck out of the house to go sit by the shed, way out in the back, obscured by the thick darkness.

He drank some whiskey straight out of the bottle with you and reminisced about your friendship, now that you were on the cusp of a new life.

“So my darlin’ is gettin’ married.” – he shook his head slightly, looking at you at an angle.

“You think that’s crazy?” – you asked in earnest, wondering if a single other person would confirm how you felt deep in your queasy gut.

“Naw!” – he denied reflexively, not really thinking about it. It was just the right thing to say. – “When ya know, ya know, right? Jimmy’s the same with Bobbie Jo.”

You thought for a while, trying to conceptualize the future for all of you, but nothing very clear was coming to you. – “I guess you’re right.”

You set the bottle down between his feet and leaned into him for a hug. He welcomed you easily, one hand smoothing your hair back to kiss the top of your head, the other rubbing circles into the small of your back.

“Promise me we’ll always be friends? Just because I’m married, doesn’t mean you’re not my big bear anymore.”

“Course, darlin’.”

*

The big day came and you were literally shaking, unable to eat or drink anything the whole day, like your whole body was made of ice.

Despite this, friends and family slapped a dress and some makeup on you, assuring you jitters were a totally normal thing.

This felt more like blind panic and walking into a meat grinder than the nerves before a first kiss, but amplified. Still, you tried to listen because they should know better, having been there themselves.

It was time to walk down the little aisle, just a few short steps, seeing Cory, his best man, and Clyde, your best man, at the end. As much as you wanted to just grit your teeth and do it, which wasn’t the biggest amount in the world, you body was just not cooperating.

You stopped a few steps in and most people either didn’t notice, or thought you were trying to milk the walk and the attention as much as possible.

Clyde was the only one who narrowed his eyes at you, looking at you funny, sensing that something was seriously off.

When you didn’t move for a few beats, more and more eyes started traveling up and down your body and Clyde leaned his head in, a question in his eyes.

You realized you’d called his name out when it reverberated around the room, sounding like a question.

Without missing a beat, he shimmied past Cory and started striding down the aisle towards you, finally prompting your feet to do the same.

You met him halfway and grabbed forcefully at his forearms, feeling tears burn in your eyes.

“I can’t do this.” – you hissed as quietly as you could, for only him to hear and the hair on his arms stood when he heard the absolute panic in your voice.

One look was enough to know – your best friend was not about to let you get pressured into doing this. He squared up as your bouquet hit the ground, picking up one half of your dress and you the other half, allowing you to walk briskly as commotion erupted in the tiny church, people getting up from their seats and crowding the aisle, barricading even Cory all the way in the back as Clyde snowplowed the two of you through the crowd.

You ran towards the road and Clyde flagged down the first pickup he saw, stuffing you in the back and asking the man to drop you off at a diner near the Logan home.

*

You sat there, chugging a pint of ice cold water, thirst and hunger returning to your body as you relaxed. Crying, you admitted you just couldn’t do it as Clyde held your free hand in both of his, one entwining your fingers together, the other soothing up and down your forearm.

“I just couldn’t do it. I can’t explain why.” – you said, ready for your friend to do anything, from calling you irresponsible and crazy, to saying something profound and magical that makes you march right back and apologize and beg to be forgiven.

“I mean, it’s certainly one way t’break up with a guy…” – he nodded to himself, thinking.

You stopped mid ugly cry, deliberating whether he was really joking at a time like this.

“Suddenly my break up doesn’t seem so bad…” – he added and you let out a strangled laugh, not believed you were able to laugh despite the guilt and desperation.

“Stop making me laugh, this is not okay.”

“I like seein’ ya laugh.” – Clyde shrugged, refusing to stop.

*

To spare you the scrutiny and chastising, Clyde took you to his home; Jimmy and Mellie on phone duty, telling everyone you were there – fine, but unavailable – and showering everyone who dared besmirch your name in copious insults, heard clearly in Clyde’s room.

You fell asleep on his bed, after hours of his valiant attempts at distracting you, and he decided to let you rest, sleeping on the couch.

*

Afterwards, you became rather a curiosity, with some people thoroughly amused and others decidedly unamused by your stunt and it took years for things to truly settle.

You unsurprisingly lost touch with Cory, as well as a rather good high school friend who took it upon herself to be his shoulder to cry on, and more, leading to a very happy union – from what you could gather from secondhand information. All’s well that ends well, right?

*

Well, wrong. Kind of.

You were eventually able to go buy peas and tampons without _every single person_ watching you the entire, and I do mean entire, time.

However, Clyde got the profoundly self-destructive idea to go off and tempt fate to end his life.

He was gone for years, during his training and two tours, and, in the meantime, another man braved dating you and the baggage that came with it, what with one of the mischievous Logans being your best friend, whom you obviously missed fiercely, and your not-easily-forgotten stunt.

Brian was great; a sense of humor was a requisite for tackling someone like you, but he also didn’t let people get away with their nonsense. Rather, he believed in fixing things – by talking it out or by way of equine therapy, which is how you met him and how he managed to get close enough to you.

Many a time, he stopped you from going over and taking out your frustration over Clyde not being in touch out on his family, who were just as worried as you, or calling up anyone you could and not leaving them alone until they put him on the line or on a plane home.

By the time he was back, the plans for your second wedding were well underway.

Intellectually, you could comprehend he needed time to heal, physically and emotionally, and Brian was there to always remind you that you may love him, but you really didn’t know and couldn’t imagine what he was going through and not to judge his distance from you too harshly.

You, ecstatic to have him back, couldn’t accept that he really didn’t want to see much of you or let you comfort or cheer him up much. He went so far as to basically refuse to be your best man – saying he was not able to face all those people and their attention on him - wounded, embarrassed, pitied - convincing you he would only detract from your happiness and enjoyment on the big day.

There was no getting through to him; not with coaxing, not with fighting, not with tears.

You left, feeling defeated, sleeping in your childhood bedroom, cranking _Don’t Speak_ on your old discman and weeping with a pillow over your face.

*

In the following days, you were doing intense equine therapy and not getting anywhere with it really, but you had firmly decided to start a new chapter in your life. Maybe think about moving somewhere with Brian. Montana? That sounded… like something.

Everything was going well; you were stubborn, determined, ready to get the wedding over with and plot your escape.

Then, the night before, after your girlfriends left you to have your beauty sleep in your parents’ house, you heard a familiar sound of pebbles knocking against your window.

You opened it, knowing full well there was only person who could have thrown them.

Clyde was standing in the yard, behind a tree, not saying anything, but his apologetic expression shone like a flashlight. You extended the moment for a while, really letting him stew in it before closing your window and making your way outside.

Back against the shed, this time drinking the whiskey legally, you had your arm wrapped around Clyde, leaning on him, cuddling up a like a cat, after all this time being apart.

“Were you really not gonna show up to my wedding?” – you asked after you talked about things for a while.

“I…” – Clyde didn’t know where to start or how to say what he was thinking and feeling. – “I s’pose not. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity t’shake the hand of the luckiest man in the county.”

“The county?” – you asked, unsatisfied.

“The state.” – Clyde corrected.

“The state?” – you echoed.

“The country, the world, the universe!” – he kept going, throwing his head back to look at the endless sky above him, wondering what lay beyond this universe and whether there was a possibility something could be better than you out there. Somehow, he doubted it.

“You’re a lucky man too.” – you reminded, wrapping your arms around him tighter, kissing into his shoulder. He nuzzled against your hair and laid his cheek on it, annoyed at himself for wasting time and not coming to you earlier. It was a noble idea in theory, to protect you from himself and the curse on his family by staying away, but it took one whiff of your hair and hearing you laugh for just a few seconds for all his resolve to evaporate. – “And you’re gonna be my lucky charm and be at my wedding, right?”

Clyde sighed, thinking of the event and how much it would take out of him – on several accounts, some that he wasn’t willing to confront at all – but he nodded into your hair, earning an excited hug in return.

*

Brian was surprised to find Clyde as your best man, but he was happy that you had patched things up.

They met and chatted for a bit, finding they liked each other a fair amount while they waited for you to walk down the grassy aisle in the field where people usually received therapy.

You were relieved to find no jitters this time, ready to get this show on the road.

It was a pleasant afternoon, your hair looking even better than you envisaged, the horses in a pen nearby, giving the scene an other-worldly beauty, walking around elegantly or gently grazing.

You were around the halfway mark, already farther down than with Cory, when one of the horses shook its mane and neighed. You just cast your eyes to look at it and saw its ears pricked up, head high, looking in the direction of the guests. As you moved your eyes from it, your gaze fell on the guests and you were suddenly aware of all these eyes on you, just like in the aftermath of your first failed wedding.

Stupidly, you thought people would, and have, let it go, but no. The same curiosity, outrage, mistrust – it was all there, in the faces of your neighbors, friends, family.

The horse started pawing at the ground, neighing again, making other horses around it startled and jittery. You stopped and looked at them, the sounds getting louder, and, as soon as you did, people froze in anticipation, hungry eyes all over you.

“Oh, no.”

“Not again.”

“No. Freakin’. Way.”

You felt yourself becoming more agitated by the second, eyebrows knitting together angrily, teeth starting to gnash.

You caught Brian’s eyes, trying to calm you from a distance. With a deep breath, you closed your eyes, hoping you could swallow the anger down long enough to say I do and leave the ceremony without flipping anybody off. Just as you were about to open them, an ear-splitting neigh came from the sensitive animals observing this assembly of gawkers and one furious bride, several horses rearing up, making many heads whip around to behold the rapturous sight.

In a split second, something in your gut told you this was your opportunity and you found yourself whipping your bouquet at a young woman who had been glaring at you quite unashamedly before. You couldn’t stick around and see if the flowers hit their target as you turned around and ran back the way you came.

“Oh, gawd!” – Clyde groaned, feeling his stomach drop to the floor, and heart flutter excitedly, as he grabbed Brian with his good hand to stop him and spare him the humiliation of running after you. – “Stay here. I’ll get ‘er back.” – he told him and took off after you, catching up with you easily.

You had to cast off your shoes so you were running and cursing at all the coarse, sharp blades of grass poking at your feet, getting tired as you approached the pen.

“Gah, why does everything have to be so far away?” – you growled at yourself and Clyde caught up to you, not even breathing hard as you stood there, gasping for breath, knowing you were two minutes away from sweating your makeup off, and the pen was still a ways away.

“I can’t do it, Clyde, I’m so fucking angry at everyone! Did you see how they were looking at me?” – you twisted your arm out of his hold, shooting a dirty look at the crowd in the distance.

He didn’t respond, feeling it was his responsibility to get you back, but wholeheartedly agreeing and sharing your anger about the gawking. – “You uh… want these?” – he asked instead, offering you the shoes you threw off.

“Yeah.” – you took them absent-mindedly, holding them for a second before letting them fall to the ground again, too preoccupied with your thoughts. – “And Brian… God, he’s a sweetheart, but he was looking at me all placid and calming and, god help me, I wanted to split his skull open. I’m just… so full of rage right now. Can you… understand that?” – you cocked your head to the side, needing your friend back and needing someone to understand you were not a bad person, but you were just not in the right headspace.

If there was anything he could understand in that moment, it was impotent rage. – “See, I came here to getcha back to yer husband…” – Clyde started, sounding unconvincing even to himself.

“Clyde, I’m not doing this.” – you responded resolutely, turning to leave. – “Will you come with me?”

“I…. Why?” – he was taken aback by the request and the great desire to comply, to defiantly blow this joint and spend another amazing day and night with you, like after the first almost wedding. – “Darlin’, this is gonna look back.” – he warned, needing to remind you and if you still insisted, he could join you guiltlessly.

You huffed and started running towards the pen again.

“Wait!” – he took off after you and you sped up, feeling more excited.

“You coming? I don’t wanna be alone.” - you yelled as he ran up next to you, holding your hand to help steady you.

“Course! But I can’t ride!” – he admitted, realizing your plan must be to ride a horse out of here since there were no cars anywhere near.

You hopped the fence – rather, rolled inelegantly over it, grunting, in your massive dress – and soothed your horse for a second before jumping on it, confident enough to ride bareback after so many sessions with them. Clyde stood to the side, not having been around horses in years. You scooted further up and reached out a hand. – “Just hold on to me.”

Clyde’s eyes widened and he hesitated, not sure how to do this, especially with his hand situation. But what was the alternative? Go back with your tails between your legs? He couldn’t stand the idea, so he took a deep breath and managed to hold on to your waist and hook his legs around the horse, sitting up and finding his balance as you rode off.

“So much fer gettin’ ‘er back.” – Brian’s best man commented in the distance, hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.

*

“This equine therapy really works, I feel better already!” – you yelled back at Clyde, who was holding on to you for dear life.

“Uh huh.” – Clyde’s response came insecure, the breath jagged it was bounced out of his chest. He had been pounding into your ferociously the entire time, hitting the horse’s back as he tensed, trying to hold on.

“Big bear, you gotta relax your legs. You won’t slide off…”

“Uh uh!” – he coiled his arms around you harder, and you could feel his thighs grip tighter behind you, even through the layers of the dress.

With a glance side to side, you deemed you were far enough away from the crowd, bringing the horse from a canter into a trot and finally stopping so Clyde could descend.

He wobbled like Bambi as he did, leaning on the horse’s haunch for support, looking green.

Being shoeless, you elected to stay on, the three of you walking slowly through the woods. Once you arrived at his trailer, Clyde helped you down as well he could. He felt like a brick shit house, maneuvering you and your dress around easily and it was equally impressive and sad that his life in the last few years demanded he be this built up and strong. You tied the horse to a tree outside and Clyde picked you up again, carrying you over the porch and inside the trailer to avoid any splinters as the wood still needed some finishing.

*

With a beer in your hand, you announced you didn’t really want to talk about what just happened – I mean, what was there to really say?

Instead, Clyde opened up about his service, sparing you the goriest details, but still telling you enough to make your heart break and blood boil. You decided right there to focus on helping him recover and go back to being his old self as much as possible.

You went to bed and he rolled away, on his side, but you followed, spooning him and fell asleep easily, while he stayed up long into the night.

You woke up in the reverse position, his injured arm around your waist.

He stirred awake when you rolled on your back, realizing what he was doing and that his bare arm with the hand missing was draped over you, thinking you must find it grotesque.

With horror in his eyes, he tried to pull away, but you held him in place, closing your hand around his elbow. – “Does it hurt?” – you asked, not wanting to cause him pain and he shook his head. With that tacit permission, you sighed and closed your eyes to rest for another bit, wrapping your arms around his injured one and relaxing.

*

After a lazy morning in, it was really time to return the horse – and the dress and the ring and any hope of anyone taking you seriously again – so you reluctantly got ready; Clyde’s old shirt and a pair of shorts, dress in a trash bag as it was the only thing big enough to fit it.

“This is gonna look majestic riding in.” – you laughed humorlessly, getting up on the horse, the trash bag on your lap.

“Are ya really sittin’ up there feelin’ sorry for yerself? I mean, it’s really Brian’s moment to mope around. He lost _you_.” – Clyde added, biting his lips for saying things they shouldn’t.

“Of course it is. And he’ll get to hate me forever. But for me… This is becoming a pattern.”

“Well… y’know what they say. Third time’s the charm.” – Clyde sighed, having to admit that yeah, your track record was not the best.

“I dunno about that. I feel like I’m gonna be single like a pringle from now on. Who’s gonna want to mess with this?” – you motioned to your entire getup and tried to keep it as light as possible because the reality of that statement was truly grim.

“I dunno what to tell ya, I feel like I’m in the same boat.” – Clyde shrugged, realizing that before you hugged him last night, he’s completely forgotten what it felt like to be held after years of being alone.

“Aren’t we a pair, huh?” – you winked, kicking the horse and quickly transitioning into a gallop, wanting to get the day over with as soon as possible.

Clyde stood looking out after you until you disappeared.

*

Years went by and your prediction had proven to be true. Soon enough, Brian hooked up with that girl who was glaring at you at the Failed Wedding Numero Dos, whom you did indeed, according to your mom, hit square in the back of the head on your way out.

Nobody seemed to want to touch you with a ten foot pole and men only approached you looking for casual hookups or an easy target to try to abuse. However, having Clyde’s support and stature to back you up, the latter group eventually gave up.

You would still occasionally bemoan the fantasy of having a lovely, idyllic, storybook wedding with a happily ever after, but since the consensus was that it was nobody’s fault but your own, you had to learn to give it up.

A new project in the form of opening a bar presented itself and getting it off the ground took up the majority of one year.

*

Soon, it became a beloved little spot and you could see a distinct change in Clyde, the dark clouds clearing and his old self coming back in pieces.

You weren’t the only one to notice, though, and whether he was aware of it or not, he had his pick of essentially any young lady that frequented his charming bar. The stars aligned for Tillie, catching him at the right time, having just the right amount of drinks, just the right song on the jukebox, just the right amount of sweet, but sexy to make a bell go off in your big bear’s head.

You saw them dancing and you knew it was going to be… something.

Walter approached you mere days later, after people caught wind of Tillie and Clyde. He’d always assumed you two were together, as did, apparently, most people and now that Clyde was with someone else, he finally thought there was a chance for him to give it a go with you.

Something about his statement was deeply disturbing. It was all true. You two did have the gentle, loving, complementary, sexless relationship of an old married couple and it felt way too good and easy to give up, unless something forced you.

So on you pressed with Walter, as he pursued his business and became more family oriented, wanting to settle down and pump up those rookie numbers of 2.4 members per household.

There was a strange, somehow foreboding and melancholy, sense that this was your last chance for a happily ever after. You’d gone through two rounds of draft picks, getting great guys both times, but now the pool was decidedly smaller and your own cache was nothing to write home about. It felt like it was time to deflate ego and expectations and dreams from their dizzying cathedral size to fit into the small drawer that was allotted to ‘someone like you’. And worst of all, you felt yourself starting to buy into it.

You agreed to all of Water’s terms. A winter wedding, to make it snappy, even though your ideal had always been early fall. Just go get it done, a civil marriage, with your parents and witnesses. Nobody outside of that circle knew the date or the place to prevent them gossiping and gawking at you in the lead up to the day. So broken-in and numb had you become over time that this all seemed acceptable. Prudent.

You did not spend the night before at your parents’ – they probably wouldn’t have had the patience for it anyway, but it was only just a civil marriage and you weren’t even wearing a wedding dress anyway. Just some dress you had in your closet from someone’s… christening? Engagement? Who cares?

Clyde didn’t come to see you, instead having a quiet movie night with Tilly, to whom this was just a night like any other.

*

Without worrying about a dress to fit in, you had whatever for breakfast and didn’t bother doing much to your hair. Walter had to run out for a quick meeting before the ceremony and you drove yourself over there in his other car.

Your mom wanted to chat about something innocuous and you didn’t get a chance to say hi to Clyde before Walter’s friend took him aside.

“Why dontcha stay back this time, buddy, okay?” – he leaned in, tapping Clyde condescendingly on the chest, like this was Walter’s party and he was lucky to be invited.

“What do ya mean?” – Clyde asked, trying not to cause a scene and ruin this one wedding that had the best chance of success.

“Everyone would feel better if you jus’ stayed back, out of sight of the bride…” – the man let him connect the dots.

“Oh… Wait. I had nothin’ t’do with…”

“Still.” – the man cut him off and gave him a distrustful look, separating with one final tap on the chest as a warning.

“Hey!” – you ran up when he was free, feeling comforted by his presence in this otherwise quite hostile environment. – “Ya ready?” – you asked, sliding your hand down his arm to lead him to the door where he could stand next to you and Walter when he arrived.

Clyde pulled it gently away, giving you a tight lipped smile. – “I’ll just be over in the back with yer folks, yer future husband would feel better, I think. And then I’ll just walk on up to sign the papers.” – he tried to make it sound like not a big deal and your new mechanism of accepting things as they were served up to you by Walter, or whatever emissary he sent, kicked in, letting Clyde do whatever he was planning. - ”Ya look wonderful, by the way.” – he said, though you knew he was exaggerating. You’d looked better than this going to get your driver’s license photo taken.

*

Walter came in, smiling broadly, waving at everyone and jogged up to you, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Good meeting?” – you asked when he said nothing.

“Yeah, nothin’ to worry about.” – he brushed off the question as usual. – “Not today, at least.”

“You like the dress?” – you continued, wondering if there was a way for this day to feel any less extraordinary than it did.

He jerked back in surprise, using the movement to take a look. You weren’t the type to ask him about his opinion much, which he expected from a homemaker – to do her duties independently of him and not be bothering him with trivial stuff – nor were you thirsty for his compliments. But oh, this was your wedding day, you were probably just excited. – “It’s good.” - he nodded.

“Good, huh?” – you emulated the tone and the nod, feeling a tiny fire ignite in your chest, after so so long, annoyed that this guy, to whom you’ve given everything he’d asked for, didn’t even have the common decency to be bowled over by his bride.

“I’m sorry, where’s… my witness?” – you asked, knowing about their little arrangement, but wanting to hear how Walter would present it.

You got a slightly irritated look in return and then he lazily swept his eyes over the room, not trying very hard to locate Clyde. – “He’ll be along. Let’s jus’ get the vows out of the way, huh?” - he winked and the tiny flame whooshed like a can of lighter fluid was dumped on it.

You had to swallow it down, just shut your eyes and drown out the noise, sign your stupid name down on that goddamn piece of paper that’s been eluding you and ruining your life, and then you could dedicate the rest of it to slowly spit-roasting Walter on that angry fire in your chest.

Was that the best way to start a marriage?

I dunno, but it sure seemed like that’s what so many marriages turned into anyway; you were just ahead of the curve. Was this what everyone was talking about when they told you to stop fantasizing? Wake up to the reality that marriage is just cashing out when you feel like it’s not gonna get any better for you and then you make a sport of keeping score and punching under the belt in artful ways?

“I do.” – you said when prompted, expecting some indescribably heavy weight to be lifted off your chest now that you successfully fulfilled the role of bride. For Walter’s face to light up in a new loving way that would cast the resentment away. For the angels to sing. For anything to be different.

But nothing happened.

Nothing happened as Walter signed the registry. Nothing happened as you signed as well. His witness gave him a little wink as he bent over to sign too, Walter clapping him on the shoulder with more enthusiasm than he greeted you. Like he had just won the biggest bear at the fair and would now get to haul it around, getting it all dirty and dusty as he dragged it bragging around the grounds.

As quietly and unobtrusively as he could, Clyde got up and made his way over to sign as well.

You’d almost forgotten in the fit of rage that blinded you seeing Walter and his best man gloating in front of you. Turning, you found Clyde sporting the fakest smile you’d ever seen, trying to be brave and do the right thing for you.

He must have seen that you clocked his fake smile for what it was because he hid his face as he bent over to take the pen and sign the registry.

You smacked his hand, making the pen fly across the room and slammed your palm over the place where he needed to put his name, making everyone suddenly shut up and freeze.

“Darlin’…” - Clyde said pleadingly, not even sure what he was pleading for.

“What did you say?” – Walter pushed you to the side as he tried to square up to Clyde, but you jumped at the excuse to yank him back as hard as you could, making him stagger.

“What are you doin’?” – he asked in a raspy voice, his collar and tie pressing hard into his larynx.

“Y’know, I may have run from two weddings before, but I was never _rude_ about it. They were genuinely good boys. But fuck you, Walter, for this insulting, bullshit excuse for a wedding.” – you said, knocking the wedding registry down and making it a point of walking, not running, out. Your parents called for you and received a _shut up_ in return. Clyde looked at the almost groom and did his level best not to break into a grin before following you out.

Once outside, you both stopped for a breath before you heard stomping footsteps approaching the door.

“Aww, shit! Come on!” – you tapped Clyde’s shoulder and ran down the steps, tossing him the keys to Walter’s car since he was running up on the driver’s side.

“Darlin’, my license in suspended.” - Clyde reminded as he opened the door and you paused in the same position opposite him.

“Fuck it, just drive, please!” – you asked and he did, peeling out of the small parking lot and driving in circles out of town, since you couldn’t go home, Tillie was at his trailer, no clue about the wedding as per Walter’s demands, and people in town would recognize Walter’s car and, seeing you two inside, put two and two together.

*

You were interrupted by the police coming to arrest Clyde for supposedly stealing Walter’s car. Then when they found out his license had been suspended, he was fined and thrown in jail for a while.

All this landed him in hot water with Tillie, who came by to threaten you to stay away from her man. You apologized and said you definitely would, before running out as soon as you could make it and breaking that promise. Word spread around quickly that Clyde was arrested with you and wild speculation began. On the way to the jail, you already noticed the same looks you got after the other two weddings you ran from; the difference this time being that you were happy to talk any amount of shit and bite back if anyone opened their big mouth at you.

“Aw, gawd, yer here? Tillie’s gonna kill me.” – Clyde hung his head seeing you enter.

“No, no, don’t worry, I’ll talk to her.”

“It woulda been better if ya hadn’t come at all, y’know?” – he snapped back, wondering why you always had to make a big mess and then go making up for it instead of just trying to avoid the mess in the first place.

“Er… Yeah. I guess. But…” – you were taken aback by his reaction since he had always been supportive thus far. Though three was probably pushing it even his level of patience. – “I just wanted to see you and say don’t worry, I’ll talk it out with Walter about… everything…. and um…” – you ran out of steam, not sure how what to say anymore.

“Okay?” – Clyde asked, shrugging and walking away.

“Are you… upset with me? I mean, about anything other than the obvious?” – you asked, getting a really uncomfortable feeling in your gut.

“What’re ya doin’?” – he turned around, asking like an exasperated parent. – “What’s all this weddin’s stuff about?”

“You know…” – you started, deflecting. – “I’m kind of lucky charm, all my friends end up with my exes and it’s really good for them in the end. Walter is probably sucking off his best man as we speak.”

“Stahp.” – Clyde shook his head, not in the mood.

“Why are you upset about this?” – you asked, not knowing how to comfort him. Besides, it’s not like you ran out on him. You wouldn’t do that if it was him.

He shook his head and waved you off. – “My heart goes out to number four.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He ignored your question and corrected himself. – “Actually, it doesn’t. He’d hafta be a real idiot to get in that line.”

“What?”

“Well, clearly ya have no intention of marryin’ any of these fellas. What’s this for? Ya jus’ wanna be a weddin’ planner, is that it?” – he asked, getting up close to the bars.

“Excuse me for getting excited about a great party and wanting a romantic…”

“Ya don’t! Ya just don’t! I keep waitin’ for ya to grow up…”

“Grow up? Me? You know I…”

“YES! You! So I can finally… gah.” – he kicked the bars and one of the guards came up to see what it was about, so you said sorry, you got annoyed and kicked the cell.

“What? So you can what?”

“Nothing; never ya mind me, its not… the time or the place.”

“Fine! Then rot in jail while I do some growing up.”

“Great. I’ll hold ya to it.”

*

Clyde had plenty of time to think about things in his cell. And after Tillie moved out, he had even more time to think in the solitude of his trailer. None of this was a surprise to him. He had known very well how he felt, and for a while now too.

You’d had time to think too, mostly cooped up in your parents’ house while Walter talked all kinds of shit about you around town, which was his price for dropping charges against Clyde.

When you went to have your hair cut at Mellie’s salon, you heard Tillie was out of the picture.

“Aw, he must be devastated, the poor fella.” – one of her customers sympathized.

“Eh. Not s’much.” – Mellie said, looking at you in the mirror.

“What? But weren’t they serious? Livin’ together?”

Mellie shrugged. - “Like I said. Not s’much.”

You kept staring at each other in the mirror until her chin wobbled and you had to fake a cough to cover up a smile.

“Ya look good, darlin’.” – Mellie observed her work. – “Now why dontcha go get a drink?”

“I think I might.” – you nodded and gave her a quick kiss before leaving.

*

When you arrived at the bar, it was mostly empty, Clyde watching something on the TV.

He stood up when he saw it was you who entered, big pout forming on his long face.

You sat right in front of him, looking down at the counter, running your fingers over the patterns in the wood.

“What… what can I getcha?” – he asked, not sure where to begin.

You had a better idea where to begin, though. – “It was all in response to you, if you haven’t noticed.”

He stopped moving, breathing, blinking, not knowing what in the hell you were talking about and, somehow, knowing exactly what in the hell you were talking about.

“When that bitch in high school dumped you, what’s her face…” – you started and he thought for a second, with an amused little laugh.

“Y’know, I really can’t remember her name right now…” - funny, since at the time he thought he would never recover from that blow.

“I do. Rebecca.” – he threw his head back and nodded slowly, finally remembering. He could have wracked his head all day, probably wouldn’t have remembered. – “You came crying to me, saying how perfect she was, beautiful, hot, blah, blah…” – you rolled your eyes grimacing.

“Wait, were ya jealous?” – he gawked, leaning against the bar.

“No!” – you shot back, lying badly. – “Shut up!” – you shushed him before he could laugh. – “After we talked the night before the wedding, I knew I didn’t want Cory. He was a nice boy, but we were over. And then you left, not calling, not returning any letters…”

“Naw, naw, naw, hold on.” – he was not about to let you list his distancing himself as a fault. – “I didn’t know if I was gonna live’r die.”

“I know! So Brian came along with his horses, all soothing, to help me through it. But you came back to me again and I didn’t really want anyone else. And then you met Tillie and god bless. I wished you the best, but I had to try and…protect myself somehow. How selfish it sounds spoken out loud. But it was never gonna be the same for us, she was making sure of that. And so was Walter.” – you said and Clyde had to admit to himself, and you, that you had let your partners get in your head and keep you apart. – “Anyway. It was all wrong. It was all _my_ fault. That’s for me to deal with…”

“Darlin’…” – Clyde tried to talk, knowing very well he was as much as to blame as you for not never saying anything, but apparently you weren’t done.

“But to imply!” – you cut him off sternly. – “That I was somehow immature. That I didn’t know I loved you and loved you as much as you _supposedly_ loved me…”

“Supposedly?!” – it was Clyde’s turn to cut in. – “I let you go three times! Four, if ya count Iraq. I busted ya out of three weddin’s! I went to jail for ya! I gave you every opportunity to find someone good for ya who could give you everythin’ I couldn’t.”

You had suspected something like this was the matter on his end. So chivalrous, self-sacrificing, thinking you could ‘do better’ than him. What a dummy your big bear was sometimes.

“It might have been a whole lot better if you were more selfish.” – you hinted, tapping your fingers slowly on the bar. - “That’s what I would recommend moving forward.“

Clyde swallowed, looking like he was trying not to pass out. - “Well, ain’t that a kick in the teeth.”

You leaned over the bar, lifting your hand off the bar and beckoning him closer with your index finger. He closed his eyes and huffed, not believing he was finally getting to kiss you again.

Through ecstatic, breathless kisses, he kept trying to explain how he was afraid to ask you to actually be with him, thinking maybe you were just good as friends, but not as a couple. Or that it would be disappointing somehow to you, that he just wouldn’t be able to give you what you wanted. Or that you simply didn’t love him like he loved you.

You did your level best to strip him of any of those doubts at the trailer that night and, hand on heart, he was thoroughly dissuaded, never bringing it up again.

*

About a year later, a little after your anniversary, you were lying with your head on his lap, leafing through some coffee table book and he was looking at some documentary on TV, but not really watching, mind far away.

“Darlin’?” – he asked, hand coming to rest on your belly.

“Hm?” – you responded, setting the book against your knees, one hand instantly going to play with his.

“Will ya not marry me?” - he asked and waited through your silence patiently.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I wanna be with ya, and not just as yer best man and weddin’ buster.” - he clarified, as if it needed clarification.

“So then why wouldn’t we get married? You know I’ve always been really into…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but ya see, yer track record with weddin’s is not the best.” – he reminded, as if you needed reminding. Although, as soon as you got together, it seemed to click for a lot of people what the real problem had been all along and they all somehow became much kinder about it, finding it a charming addition to the lore of their small town how the runaway bride now lives her with one-handed bartender in the woods. So maybe you did need reminding after all. – “So my proposal is… we jus’ live together. As long as ya want me. Ya don’t have nothin’ t’get spooked of. And yer with me only if ya wanna be.” – he asked, feeling just as, if not more, nervous than if he were actually proposing marriage.

You laid on his lap for a long while, not speaking, just holding his big warm hand, thinking of spending the next few decades with him and how any wedding you could envisage paled in comparison to the idea of finding him all mussed from sleep, barely awake and grumpy, pouting for a kiss in the morning. - “Alright, deal.” – you agreed and felt him relax under you. – “But I get to plan our kids’ weddings.”

“Sure, as long as ya stay till the end.”

*


End file.
